


Sudden Silence

by Dyzzyah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dyzzyah/pseuds/Dyzzyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What comes of your matesprit's nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sudden Silence

There’s nothing like curling up in a soft pile for a good day’s sleep. It might not be sopor but it does the job, you think to yourself as you luxuriate in a pile of yarn and scrap cloth, deep in the forgotten bowels of yet another puzzle-temple on his world.

You have been playing the game for sweeps; fighting is so ingrained in your muscle memory, you barely remember what it is like not to be caught in the game. It’s not a bad life, though, not with your pawtner, er, partner by your side. You are not the strongest fighter, and he refrains from fighting when possible, but together, you feel invincible; with him, you feel safe. 

Kurloz.

Kurloz, whose unruly curls are as soft as kitten fur, his smile as kind as rain after drought, and his voice! He sings well enough, but you adore the way he speaks; he rambles like a psalm, laughs like a choir, and whispers like a hymn. You could, an often do, listen to him for hours on end without ever tiring.

Often, you two will stay up and talk, long after you have consummated your quadrant, when the sun is high and all sensible trolls have been asleep long since. It’s almost impossible for you not to get caught up in whatever he’s talking about, every word is passionate, every laugh heartfelt, and every curiosity about you and your interests genuine, until both of you are too exhausted to remain awake. So, it is not surprising that, like so many other days, you find yourself in a pile with him curled around you, both of you nude as wigglers, with his chest against your back and one arm both cushioning your head and keeping your hair out of his face. His other arm is draped over your middle as usual, fingers laced with yours as you hold his hand to your chest, and you can’t help but notice his thin, willow-branch fingers are so much longer than yours.

You two have talked long, and he has fallen asleep around you, and it is not long before you fall asleep, too. Just another day’s rest, after another wonderful night together.

The scream that pierces the day is much too loud. 

You are sitting bolt upright before you even realize you are awake, and you are shaking him before you know what you are doing, fear in his eyes before consciousness arrives; he has made a noise living things are not meant to make. You ask him again and again what’s wrong, why did he scream, did he have a nightmare? He looks so scared, like he looked into death itself, and you’re asking him what’s wrong, what happened? It was only a dream, Kurloz, it can’t hurt you, it’s okay, please, say you’ll be okay, Kurloz. Please, say something!

You fail to notice the wet feeling dripping down by your earlobes. You succeed in noticing the pain in your head, but that is not your primary concern right now.

His thin lips move and tears drain into purple rivers down his cheeks. He’s telling you something, but no sound comes out, and oh god, oh no, he lost his beautiful voice! You cradle his face between your hands, and you tell him it will be okay, it’s okay, you love him even if he can’t talk, and he looks at you like you’re mad, why, why does he look like that?

You watch him as a fear drains from his face, there is fathomless horror bleeding through his mussed face paint as realization sets in.

You can’t hear his voice, but you can’t hear yours, either.

Something is dripping from your hearducts, and you bring your fingers to your ear to check, and yes, wet green blood is leaking from your soundcanals and dribbling down your neck to pool above your collarbones.

Your limbs fall dead in shock, your insides are cold and heavy as stone, and you say No, No, Nonononono, and nothing comes out but inaudible wind, and Kurloz, he’s scrambling backwards off the soft pile, horrorstruck, like he needs to get away, not away from you, he wants to get away from himself, and he’s saying something, whatever it is, it must be loud if how wide his mouth is serves as any indication. You don’t know what he’s saying, but it looks like “I’m sorry” and all you want to do is tell him it’s okay, please stop crying, Kurloz, god, just please, stop crying…but all you can do is sit there, numb.

Your tears have been falling for what feels like hours before you can move. When you finally climb out of the pile to find Kurloz, your legs are shaky and uncertain.

You pad down the corridors, searching for him; you need to feel safe. You need to know he is safe. You really, really need to cry and be held and hold him and…

You need for none of this to have happened.

When you find him, he is huddled up in the middle of a room, his familiar back hunched over and his shoulders are shaking, and if you didn’t know better you’d swear he was laughing. You run over and latch onto his back, and you kiss his neck, and you try to wrap around him, press your chest to his back, press close enough you’re in the same physical space. If he says anything, you don’t know about it, but he brings a finger to his mouth and draws it back, purple, and he begins to write on the floor.

ITS ALL GOOD NOW SWEET LITTLE KITTYBITCH I CANT HURT YOU ANY MORE

You don’t understand, and he gestures towards a gray lump leaking purple a few feet away. It looks almost like a tongue…

Your gut churns again as you realize, it _is_ a tongue; that long and clever tongue that has given you so much pleasure, that has curled around such sweet words in your hearducts and drawn such joyous patterns on your skin is now a piece of lifeless meat lying discarded on the dirty floor, a greater blasphemy than you could have imagined. He turns his head and you see his face properly for the first time since he ran away, and tears well anew as you curl into his lap. 

He has sewn his mouth shut. He has bitten off his own tongue. Bad enough you could no longer hear him…bad enough he took on the guilt of hurting you, when you both know he would never choose to…he has taken his voice and his words out of the universe, and something in you isn’t sure you can forgive him for that.

He’s looking at you with eyes you haven’t seen before. Broken eyes. Not-quite-Kurloz eyes. You sob as you run your thumbs over the thick leather strap he used to sew his lips together, and you plead with him, plead for this all to have been a dream, a nightmare, something not real. You will wake up in the evening, and you will tell him this terrible nightmare you had, and he will tell you it’s okay, and together you will laugh and talk and maybe fight some imps if you find them, but after a night-terror like this you’d rather just take it easy—

The way his thumbs dig in when he grips your shoulders reminds you that this is not a dream.

This is real.

There is no going back.


End file.
